Asking the Nightingale
by MercedesCarello
Summary: Seven years following the disbandment of Tekkadan, most of its survivors have embraced their new lives. Ride has not. But he isn't the only one trying to topple Gjallarhorn. When both Ride and Almiria approach Artima for help, how much is Artima willing to sacrifice her own peace - and that of the world - in order to keep an unspoken promise?
1. Chapter 1: Gunshot

**A Note from the Author: **Hello and welcome to the sequel to 'Resurrecting the Viper', which is useful but not required reading in order to enjoy! It's a shame I couldn't select the actual characters this mainly features - Ride, Almiria, Eugene, and my OC Artima - so just know they're the main four. I've also rated this M to be safe. I'd love to know what you think. Happy reading!

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**Chapter 1: Gunshot**

_New York City, Earth. May 15th, PD 332_

"_Do you remember Orga Itsuka?"_

_ "Who the fuck is that?"_

_ Four bullets through the stall door, four meaty impacts, four cases clattering to the floor._

_The slump of cloth and a _thud_, the door squeaking as it tried to bounce open but failing when it lodged on flesh. A barely-heard final exhale. Dripping. Blood, thick and gleaming, rapidly tracing the grout between the tiny square tiles and engulfing them, swallowing the brass cases._

_The bitter smell of it. Piss, gunpowder, death. The ache in his arm, the tingle in his hand from the kick-back dying too. Unclenching his jaw. His hand unable to stop shaking._

_The blood climbing the stalls, painting the wall, the ceiling, brightening. Touching his feet and climbing him too - panic jolting him backward into the sink, the mirrors cracking as the blood pushed behind them and then exploding. The plumbing bursting, shooting more red into the air until it was all over him, coating him, pressing its way through his pores and down his throat, drowning a wordless yell._

Ride jerked awake, swiped his hands down his arms - they were damp from sweat, not blood, and he caught his breath in relief.

He sat up in the cot, one of four in the basement of the Manhattan safehouse. A glance around the blue-dark room told him Seppi and Derma were sleeping in two of the other cots, so Maeve was still on watch. Apart from the distant rumble of traffic all seemed peaceful, but he felt the seven-block distance between them and the bodies in the Île de L'Espoir conference suite bathroom all the more keenly. He checked the time - 02:04 - and leaned back on one elbow to start calming his heartrate. They'd be leaving in less than an hour, on the way to even greater safety. This basement was under a utility building and had all sorts of signal-garbling firewalls set up besides; they were in a pocket of dead space and had cleared their trail on the retreat. Less than five feet away from him was the trapdoor to the tunnel that'd take them all the way to the port. There'd been no mistakes.

Ride's free hand compulsively tugged Orga's scarf up under his nose and he laid there for a moment breathing in the musty smell._ It's only been about eight hours since you did it. Of course you weren't gonna sleep good. But it's done - that's what counts._

And yet what was worse than the nightmare was that he didn't feel better. It didn't feel over.

_It's not enough. It was supposed to be enough._

He dropped fully on his back, his eyes darting between the exposed metal beams that held up the ground floor and the conduit cables snaking along them. What was next, in that case? Could he even handle a 'next'?

Ride's mind went to Orga, and that day he was gunned down in the street protecting him. All the other deaths after having come so far together. He'd thought of nothing else since that day - it'd taken him a year to track down who was responsible for Orga's death, and the other six to plan the assassination of Nobliss. He and his team of seven - four of them former Tekkadan members, three of them others he'd roped in - had been MIA for five of those years. It'd seemed like once it was done, he could bury Mikazuki's gun somewhere and finally get on with his life like the others. But now that it'd happened…

_I don't even remember leaving the hotel. All I could think about was how good it felt - how awful and how good. In a way I wish I hadn't done it. I'm so tired. But there was no choice. Someone had to. And it's done. There's no turning back. Nobliss was responsible for a lot of it, yeah, but not all of it. Nobliss didn't kill Shino, or Biscuit, or Mikazuki or Akihiro or Hush, or Aston._

Gjallarhorn. That meant Gjallarhorn was next. The pit in his stomach from yesterday opened wider as he realized that this could never be over until the entirety of Gjallarhorn was gone for good. It was a hive of culprits. Even if the vast majority weren't directly responsible, their indifference and their allegiance made them complicit. If Gjallarhorn hadn't been given the order to wipe Tekkadan off the face of Mars, he might still be on the Isaribi right now. He'd left a painting unfinished on the bridge.

Ride took in a shaking breath. _And who gave the order? The Seven Stars. But they're pretty much dissolved now. That leaves Rustal Elion._ He clenched his fist as he remembered the older man's face - one he hadn't seen much back then but had seen a lot lately in glimpses of newscasts as he and his team went about their preparations. _Kudelia's been working a lot with him to try to keep the peace and improve things on Mars. She probably wouldn't want me to do this and I'm sure it'll cause problems for her. But…_ He sat up and swung his feet to the buffed concrete floor. _I can't. I can't just let this go. It's too late now. I've...I've made my choice. All I can do is involve the others as little as possible. It only has to be me that takes the fall._

Ride stood and stretched half-heartedly. Somewhere a siren wailed and the sound drifted down to him from the three thin slits of windows near the ceiling on the far wall; he listened intently, tensing, and when it died away he relaxed again. A cat darted along the sidewalk outside, its shadow blotting out the sodium-orange streetlight of first one window, then the second, then the third.

_Taking out Rustal is going to be even tougher than Nobliss, but I don't have years to plan. Clock's ticking ever since I pulled the trigger. _His heartrate started to pick up again. _I'm gonna need outside help. Someone who isn't Tekkadan, but knows enough to agree to help me. Someone more experienced, who can do this shit blindfolded._ He raised the hand that'd held the gun, stared at his palm. He was shaking - from nerves or anticipation, it was hard to tell. _Someone whose hand won't shake._

He looked at a tiny paper crane gently rising and falling on Derma's chest - a habit he'd picked up to calm himself enough to sleep - and remembered her. The way she'd been folded on top of the Gundam's body while she told them stories; stories that later unfolded into flight when the Khort Mogoi carved its way through a fleet. How its movements hadn't been any different to what he'd seen her do in the hangar alone that first day she'd arrived, gliding through zero-gravity, like everything bent to her will. Everything _had_ bent to her will after that. He was old enough to see that now. It'd bent until the day Orga couldn't bend anymore and sent her away. Who knew what happened to her after Mars - presumed dead like the rest of them. But he knew better.

_That's what I need. A ghost. There's nothing in a ghost to shake._

* * *

_Philadelphia, Earth. May 17th, PD 332_

Almiria Bauduin crossed her legs the other way and squinted her eyes to the hot breeze. The sun that so many had proclaimed made the graduation ceremony 'perfect' made her new, starched Gjallarhorn uniform stifling. She was equally grateful for the cropped-short hair she'd been sporting for about a year now. She'd slipped away from her family and friends to come sit on the foot arch of her Graze - one of twenty standing in two lines of ten either side of the promenade-bordered, long rectangular pool in the stately Calamity War Memorial Gardens of Philadelphia - to ease the ache in her cheeks from the practiced smiles and digest the morning. In her white-gloved hand, the token flute of congratulatory champagne grew warm. Her eyes settled on the greenery dwarfed by the stately gray Grazes and unfocused; the sounds of the after-party in the courtyard nearby began to fade.

_It's done, then. I did it. _

She'd allowed herself the superficial joy over the accomplishment when they'd got their exam results a week ago and then, privately, the feeling had passed. Everyone was proud of course, her brother especially. She kept up the act around them because she was, of course, a Bauduin, and Bauduins - particularly nowadays - must always project what is honorable and good about the Seven Stars.

_The Seven Stars...what bullshit. Doesn't mean anything more than a historic honor title now._ She turned the champagne flute by the stem between her fingers, watched the cut crystal cast shards of rainbows on the blue of her knee - darkened to a navy five years ago rather than the cerulean it'd once been. _Dyed darker with blood._

It wasn't that graduating top of her class wasn't something she hadn't wanted to do for herself. Owing to McGillis'...work, she'd always been interested in mobile suit piloting but it hadn't been until their visit to the Chifeng Museum in the Republic of China seven years ago that it'd become _her_ interest, and the fire had grown from there. She enjoyed piloting. Shame not much of it was necessary nowadays - which added an overall farcical tone to today that got under her skin.

_It's just theater._ She drained the lukewarm champagne in one long gulp, squinted at the taste. _And theater can't cover up what they did._

It'd been...complicated when she'd learned the truth. All of the truths - well, most of them. She was convinced there were still some she didn't know and more still that she never would. The truth that Gjallarhorn and its Seven Stars was not a round table full of knights had of course been a shock to her as a naive child, but the truth that Gaelio had been the one to kill McGillis had been difficult to digest. More difficult still was the apparent truth that McGillis had ulterior motives in becoming engaged to her. Both of these were lodged in her chest like bullets that tapped at her heart whenever she breathed; mostly the second, because she still wasn't sure if it _was_ a truth. She'd never know, because McGillis was dead. Her fiance was dead and she had to navigate the wreckage of that for the rest of her life.

_While Gjallarhorn lives, and takes on new life. Like nothing happened. How many of us has it chewed up and spit out? _

Her gaze swept along her fellow graduates' Grazes, all identical to her own. She imagined them stripped to their bones - McGillis had wanted to do the same to Gjallarhorn, to scoop out the rot, to reforge it. Would he have been proud of her? Would he have wanted what Gjallarhorn had become? She, for one, wasn't convinced that things weren't the same as they'd always been, which was - in a way - why she was here.

_There was no other way to become a pilot,_ she reminded herself as her fists clenched. _Slow and steady wins the race - this is just the latest in the many steps you've taken. There's no other way to make change but from within. No other way to finish what Macky started -_

In fantastic coincidence, the face that her mind's eye had settled on came into view in the real world: Rustal Elion, escorted by her brother and his wife Julieta Juris, walking down the strip of gravel toed by the Grazes. No doubt coming to find her. She took a moment to enjoy the fact that the three most powerful individuals in Gjallarhorn if not the civilized world were looking for _her_, and then packed away her bitter scowl.

"Almiria!" Gaelio called to her and waved. His body was having a good day - he only carried his cane rather than used it, however lightly.

Almiria climbed down carefully on account of the champagne flute and fabricated her smile on the way. She raised her voice, "Don't be mad. The crowds got a little stifling, is all!" She joined the three of them on the gravel. Decorum possessed her as she turned to Rustal. "On behalf of my fellow graduates, thank you for a wonderful ceremony," she bowed somewhat. "Your keynote address was inspiring."

"Your own valedictory address was very eloquent," Julieta said. "Many people have been commenting on it."

"Thank you!" Almiria said, and meant it. Compliments from Julieta were rare and a sign of Gaelio softening her somewhat over the three years they'd been formally together.

"On that, the Vice President and I agree. It's my pleasure to still be invited to these," Rustal said, that measured smile she so detested never leaving his face. "Keeps a man young to see such ambition and talent in the next generation."

Almiria kept what she wanted to say behind her teeth - that these Grazes would likely see nothing but ceremonial flyovers and their pilots would but lucky to see a sortie in their entire careers, purely because of their surnames. Most of them, anyway. Instead she said to Gaelio, "Dad's still networking, I guess?"

Gaelio shrugged good-naturedly, "He ran into some people he knew, so he sent us to come fetch you."

They began a leisurely stroll back; with Gaelio and Julieta in the lead, Almiria reluctantly but dutifully fell into step with Rustal. She struggled to think of a relevant conversation topic that wouldn't be too much of a labor to play along with, as well as keep her mind off her true intentions. While she'd grown better at lies and facades over the years she wasn't convinced she was perfect yet.

Unfortunately he spoke first. "My sincere compliments on your achievement, Miss Bauduin. You've shown yourself to be a dedicated and truly talented student. You should be very proud."

"I am, I have to admit." Which was true. "And thank you. I'm happy to be done but also in a way I miss it," she said, to layer-on the self-effacing personality others expected of her. Throw him off her scent.

"That's understandable. You've opened a new chapter of your life today. Though I'm sure you deserve some downtime, have you given much thought to your next step?"

"I'm more of the one-step-at-a-time sort," she lied. "And I know that happily, there's so little need for combat positions nowadays. People like my brother are a dying breed. I wanted to preserve the skills, if nothing else. So maybe I'll end up in regulations or diplomacy." She toyed with the champagne flute.

"Now that Gjallarhorn has seen five years of solid restructuring," Rustal said with practiced delicacy, "you're right in that the old ways are dying. For more people than ever, peace isn't just a dream. That being said, keeping the peace will always be necessary - perhaps someone like yourself who has their heart in the right place could find fulfilment as a field marshal in the newer territories. To start, at least. I imagine you wouldn't have much trouble climbing the ranks purely out of merit."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence," she smiled.

He placed his hands behind his back. "It's easily-given. Perhaps this reveals an old hand, but I have to admit to keeping an eye on you for some time."

"Oh?" This was news, but not entirely a shock.

He hummed an assent. "Many of us were concerned about you following the death of McGillis Fareed. It was a trying time to say the least, particularly for someone as young as you were. You had to mature very quickly. I'm glad to see that instead of shying from it, you've embraced your life after him."

_'Life after him'_ \- it was like a gunshot straight through her, but she kept walking. _There has been no 'life after'. There could never be._ With the hatred for Rustal boiling under her skin, she smiled again, "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't difficult at times, but yes, I knew I had to embrace all of the possibilities in front of me. I don't think I'd be here now if it wasn't for everyone who supported me."

A side path took the four of them up a small rise toward the courtyard; they passed through small, white-clothed satellite tables laden with empty champagne flutes and tiny matching hors-d'oeuvres plates, on which Almiria abandoned her own glass. The trees - she squinted and, as was her hobby, identified them as elms - rustled pleasantly in the breeze as though they were joining in on the excited conversations. She continued to smile and exchange a few words with her friends but kept moving through the crowd, and in doing so realized with a distant sadness that maybe she wouldn't see any of them again and if that were the case, had any of them truly been her friends? Had she, Almiria, of the Seven Star Bauduin family, not ultimately changed just as Gjallarhorn had not changed?

_They dyed themselves a different color. My name changed dyes too. But nothing has really changed - I'm still alone in seeking vengeance for a murder._ She blinked, realizing her eyes had settled on her brother, and redirected them instead to Rustal, who was speaking with her father. _First you remove the head, and then you burn the body. Then Macky can have peace. I can have peace. But you have to be smarter than him. The key is keeping your hands clean. _She tugged on her gloves, looked away through the crowd._ Now it's time to find someone who'll keep my hands clean._

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**A(nother) Note from the Author:** You'll notice I've sprinkled in some headcanons, such as Gaelio and Julieta getting married at some point. Also, I changed up the location of Nobliss' assassination to New York rather than Mars purely for flavor.


	2. Chapter 2: Reunion

**A Note from the Author: **A big thank you to everyone who's taken the time to review, follow, and favorite already! You rock!

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**Chapter 2: Reunion**

_Chryse, Mars. May 30th, PD 332_

Talbert's was thankfully busy - the last thing Ride wanted was a bar that was too quiet and had no crowds to hide in - and he gradually moved his way inside. It wasn't much, just four walls built on the site of an abandoned fuel silo with the bar itself taking up the majority of the far wall and a random assortment of tables and seats scattered around without rhyme or reason, all sparsely-lit. Most of the patrons were industrial workers, but there were some city folk mixed in there too. Someone had found a greenball game and bolted it to the left wall near the bathroom, where a group of four businessmen sans jackets drunkenly echoed the double-chime and cheered their small victory. Otherwise, conversations were mutters and smatters of laughter, and he didn't recognize any voices.

He eventually emerged at the bar and propped his back against it. While he began to scout the room he ordered a cactus frisker - the only cheap non-alcoholic mixed drink he knew about - so as not to seem inconspicuous, and paid in advance in case his information was incorrect and the trip a waste. The moment the lime-colored drink was set by his elbow was the moment Ride spotted him at the far right end of the bar, and he began to force his way over.

Seeing Eugene in real life was different than seeing him on the news as Kudelia's shadow a few days ago, particularly here in Chryse where their mutual history felt fresher than ever. Ride's throat threatened to close. He hadn't been in touch with anyone from Tekkadan outside of his team for five years and that fact made him want to forget everything he was here to do, either to turn around right now before he was seen or give in and go back to the fold. But he swallowed, reminded himself that it was too late to shut the door, and kept walking. If there was anyone in the world that'd know where Artima was, it'd be Eugene.

"Grew your hair out," Ride said to announce himself and stopped a stool down. He set his drink on the bar.

It wasn't much of a ponytail - the curl of it disappeared behind Eugene's collar as his head turned in Ride's direction. His eyes widened. He put down his drink and immediately stood, grabbed him in a fierce hug. Now that Ride himself had grown to 5'10 it felt even stranger to not be on his toes, or not have his hair ruffled. The strangest part was how Eugene didn't say anything right away. It was only after a long moment and he'd released him that he held him by the shoulder and searched his face, then smiled, said, "Was wonderin' when you'd turn up. Grew like a weed, didn't ya?" His hand dropped and he sat back down.

"A bit, yeah," he said and allowed himself a smile. He braced himself for the quizzing, had to admit to being only half prepared for it now that he was looking Eugene in the eye and the weight of the years apart was back front and center.

He'd gotten some sun and the faintest of worry lines on his forehead, but the sparkle was still in his green eyes. Slight stubble. Nondescript black suit. Looked like what Ride thought a twenty-two year-old working man would look like - that and the fact he seemed to have grown into his features made Ride feel small again. Ride tried not to look at Eugene's red tie - possibly the same one from the old days - and instead noted that his slump suggested tiredness.

"Long day?" He laughed inwardly, sardonically. Surely their entire lives consisted of one long day at this point.

Eugene guffawed. "That's the first thing you say to me after, what, five years? Six?" He seemed to realize Ride's awkwardness and said, "Yeah. Just got here today with Kudelia. She's gotta have some privacy at some point so when she's out with Atra I stay in town."

Ride feigned ignorance of that information. "How's the gig?"

He shrugged. "Liked it more than I thought I would. Guess it suits me. Kudelia's probably the best boss you could have, too, so that helps."

"How is she?" Ride sat, sipped his drink. It was awful and he put it aside. "She and Atra got married, right?"

"Sure did. They're good. Seem to have fallen precisely where they needed to be, y'know? They're doing great at the whole mom thing."

Ride wasn't sure what to ask next, and quiet spun between them. There weren't any more diversions. On the other side of the room, the group of businessmen let out a burst of laughter and yells and started clapping each other on the back.

At length Eugene said, "Don't wanna scare you off, so no, I'm not gonna ask. I'll just say it's good to see you. But I _will_ say that I'm surprised you found me of all people, and knew _where _to find me. Should I be flattered, or…?"

Ride turned his glass in its water ring, rubbed the condensation between his fingers. "It's good to see you too. I mean it. I can't talk about the rest right now but yeah, I mean that. I came to find you because…" He sighed. "I actually wanted to find Miss Artima. Thought maybe you'd know where she was."

Eugene resettled on his stool and hid a halfhearted smile behind his drink. "What made you think that?" He sipped at the short tumbler, full of a clear alcohol Ride couldn't begin to guess at.

"I'm not stupid. Come on, everybody knew."

"Knew what?"

"Y'know."

Eugene raised his eyebrows and the smile grew to one of the old, mischievous smirks. "Can't say I do."

Ride nudged his shin implicitly with a foot. "That you two were together, or however you want to put it."

"Were those the rumors? Huh. Well. Sorry to disappoint but we weren't." He faced the bar and set his beer down. The good humor drifted from his face.

Ride hesitated, then said, "You liked her though, and you can't lie about that. I thought if anybody knew where she was, it'd be you. Because we both know she's not dead."

"Why do you want to find her?" Eugene's voice was an indifferent, critical.

"Can't say."

Eugene eyed him with something approaching a scowl, then let it go. "I don't know where she is."

"Seriously?" Ride deflated. "But…" he wasn't sure how to articulate it.

Eugene seemed to detect this. He spoke lowly, "Believe me, every day part of me wishes I knew. But the thing is, I have faith that she'll come to me when she's ready." Ride must have had a confused expression without realizing, because Eugene spotted it and smiled forgivingly again. "You'll get it when you're older."

"I _am_ older," Ride bristled. _If only you knew the things I've done -_

"Yeah I know, but I mean you'll get it when you…" he trailed off, decided not to finish and took a longer sip of beer.

Ride calmed. _When you fall in love,_ he finished for him. It was an uncomfortable but illuminating realization about his former deputy boss. He recognized that even if Eugene had known where Artima was, he probably wouldn't have told him. He could see that in his face without ever having experienced it for himself. "So...you haven't seen her for years?" He resisted adding a derogatory comment.

Eugene tipped a finger in his direction in agreement. "Not since Gjallarhorn attacked the base and Kheree saved me. But then, that wasn't really seeing _her_." He swirled the remains of his drink. "You'll probably find this out anyway so I may as well tell you: Orga originally sent her away to an organization called Avrias. We can probably safely guess she came from there to help us, back then. That's all I can offer you."

"Thanks," Ride muttered. "So...if I find her, do you want me to -"

"Nah. Like I said, she'll find me." Eugene drained his drink and set the glass on the bar with a satisfying _clack_. One hand propped his arm up on his leg as he looked at him, "So, you staying? Or taking off again?"

"I can't stay. Sorry." Ride glanced around the room, checking the roster of faces that'd been here when he'd arrived.

"That's a shame. We miss you and the others. Are they still with you?"

Ride figured there was no harm in admitting it. "Derma, Trow, Hirume, and Embi, yeah." Ride stood. "It's been good seeing you. Thanks for the information."

"I'll walk you out. I'm ready to get some shut-eye anyway."

Ride would have rathered he left alone, but didn't say anything. Eugene paid his tab and exchanged a couple of familiar words with the bartender, and then the two of them shuffled their way through the other patrons and out into the night. Talbert's was on the outer edge of Chryse but even here, Ride could see how the city had fleshed out and matured since he was here last. There were more civilian vehicles and establishments, street lighting with pedestrians in mind, better signs. It looked like a place to live rather than to wage war.

"Where are you staying?" Ride asked to fill the silence, and in case it was useful information later. They stopped on the streetcorner.

"Heard about Nobliss," Eugene said abruptly, the pretense gone from his face. He turned on his heel to face Ride. "Suddenly tracking me down to find Artima wouldn't have anything to do with that, would it?"

"What makes you think that?"

"If you've done something stupid -"

"Why would getting revenge for Orga be stupid?" Ride surged.

"Because it's not just you that it impacts," Eugene surged back. "It's bad enough that you involve the other boys...and Ride, I care about you, you know that, but you gotta understand - if you find her, and you involve her too in whatever it is you're up to, you can be your ass I'll be pissed. I don't know if I'll be able to forgive you." His eyes were hard.

This new brand of threat made Ride's skin prickle. All he could do was shrug under its weight. "_If_ I find her. And _if_ she decides to help." It really was all hypothetical, he had to admit, no matter how desperate he was.

Eugene glowered. "What're you up to?"

"Finishing it," Ride said, looking at the ground.

"You think that's what Orga wanted for you? You think that's why Mika and the others died? If you keep on doing this you'll wind up dead and I for one refuse to stand here and watch you throw away what you were given." Eugene pushed past him and crossed the street without looking back. He vanished around a corner.

Ride's shoulders relaxed gradually and he took a deep breath, released it. He blinked and looked around him, analyzing it afresh, and then started walking. Like a lodestone was in his body, he headed southwest toward the Tekakdan grave despite the darkness. He'd only given 'morning' as an ETA to Derma for their rendezvous in the city, so he had some time.

_He's right of course. I know I'll probably wind up dead. I know Orga only wanted a peaceful, stable life for all of us but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't see this through to the end. And Eugene will just have to be pissed with me if Miss Artima decides to help - she's older than us anyway, so it's her decision. She can say no. God I hope she doesn't say no._

It took him about forty-five minutes to make it out of the city canyon, down the service roads to the fields, and from there up the hill where the grave stood sentry over the dark patchwork of Sakura Farm. Next to the main house was another, smaller one he didn't recognize with one light on in the upper floor, which he guessed to be Atra and Kudelia's house. Ride turned off his flashlight and stared at it for a few moments, then turned away. He sat tiredly in front of the grave and placed his forehead against the cool stone; he stared down at the flowers someone - probably the girls - had planted around it. One hand moved slowly over the names and he realized that at some point the stone had been repolished and all of the names carved properly, so he didn't have their placement memorized anymore. He traced them with his fingertips to try to relearn.

A carrier passing overhead brought him out of his distraction; he traced its path to the airfield on the other side of Chryse. He pulled himself to his feet and stretched. _Avrias, then._


	3. Chapter 3: Avrias

**Chapter 3: Avrias**

_Suite 303 of the Ledendecker Hotel, Vingolf, Earth. 10th June, PD 332_

"I have to confess to more than a little curiosity at one of the Seven Families asking to see me, much less one so young."

Almiria lifted her chin and placed her arms behind her back. "Business, purely." She watched the small, wiry woman cross the ambiently-lit room shadowed by a broad bodyguard; as she got closer Almiria guessed she was maybe in her seventies and she had the weary expression to match it. Almiria didn't let her guard down. "I have no qualm with you or Avrias. I just have some questions, and I'd like this to be kept between us."

"I assumed as much, since you're not in uniform."

Madame Joy Ledendecker sat in one of the two chairs at the glass table, and the bodyguard poured ice water for her deftly and then stepped away. Finally the matron deigned to look at Almiria and, after a blinkless beat, gestured at the chair opposite her.

Almiria decided to refuse would cause unnecessary additional friction and perched on the edge of the seat. "Thank you for seeing me. I -"

"Much as I appreciate the years you spent being drilled in pleasantries, Miss Bauduin, your questions please. The less time you spend here the better, no?"

Almiria smiled thinly, cleared her throat. "I was hoping you could first confirm that you once employed one Artima Wei, an unusual mobile suit pilot?" She laced her fingers together and placed them on the table.

"'Employed' is inaccurate, but yes, she worked with us before."

"I would like to know her whereabouts."

Madame Ledendecker raised an eyebrow. "Have they sent you to track her down and kill her? Seems stupid and wasteful but then," she huffed a laugh, "I have seen plenty of stupid and wasteful things in my life." She crossed her legs.

"The opposite," Almiria said evenly. She took a deep breath. "I would like to employ her."

Madame Ledendecker hesitated; her eyebrows drew back down in confusion. She reached forward for her glass. "Is that so? An interesting development." She took a sip of water. "For?"

"That will be between her and I, if you don't mind."

An antiquated telephone rang in one corner of the room; the bodyguard took two strides to pick up the receiver. After a moment without speaking, he put it down and crossed the room again to whisper in the ear of the matron. She looked surprised for only a moment, nodded at him, and then put the expression away as she turned to Almiria with mild curiosity.

"Do you happen to know a Duncan Theodore?" Madame Ledendecker asked.

"I don't think so," Almiria said. She tried to hide her irritation at the early interruption to their conversation.

"I would have been surprised, frankly." She turned to the bodyguard, "Best ask for another glass and pitcher."

Almiria squinted ever so slightly.

To this squint, Madame Ledendecker responded, "Maybe I should have paid more attention to the position of the planets. Seems you're not the only one interested in the whereabouts of Artima Wei."

"I would rather our discussion be kept private," Almiria repeated despite her interest.

"Normally I would agree wholeheartedly, but in this case I'd recommend trusting the intuition of your elders."

Almiria's jaw worked itself but she said nothing. After all, the risk of being seen here was small - Duncan Theodore wasn't a name of importance and therefore, if she detected a risk she could have him dealt with. It was a small price to pay for finding out why someone else wanted to find the Gundam pilot now of all times and here of all places. She took a calming sip of her own ice water.

It hadn't taken much effort to determine the last known whereabouts and affiliations of Wei. She had to credit Rustal Elion for keeping a detailed file on her, and he had not deemed it necessary to put it behind too many security walls. Even her sister-in-law had been willing to divulge a little information without Almiria raising any suspicion, which was how she heard of Avrias. The fact that one of Avrias' chief officers could be accessed through a subsidiary business in the form of the Ledendecker Hotel was perhaps the organization's least-kept secret, though further research revealed little more than a vague, gray label of 'colony utility company' that suggested this hotel was merely the tip of an iceberg. Even Gjallarhorn hadn't been able to find - or at least, hadn't recorded - more information on them despite their blatant anti-establishment broadcast with the launch of Wei into the Mars orbital sortie above Tekkadan's base seven years ago. It wasn't Almiria's preference to go on so little, but it was all she had.

_Rustal has to have known that if Wei was working with Avrias, even if temporarily, that Avrias is still a potential threat to Gjallarhorn as a whole. Why would he let them off without investigation? But now's not the time to think about that just yet,_ Almiria turned her attention to the door, where another glass was being delivered to the bodyguard and carried solemnly to the table._ She's right that it's strange that another person would suddenly be interested in Wei. Who else could possibly -_

Another knock. This time the door was opened to reveal a young man with red hair cut into a wavy mohawk. His shoulders underneath his leather jacket were slumped and he moved into the room with an animalistic sort of sway, his eyes casting about everything with a wary scowl. He looked like a street hooligan. Why on earth did someone like this even know about Wei much less know to come here to try to find her? Then the cold eyes focused on her and Almiria turned her attention from abstractions.

"Please join us, Mr Theodore," said Madame Ledendecker. "There's water here if you'd like it." If she was put off by his gruff aura she didn't show it. Then again, Almiria supposed she must have seen far worse in her time. "I was just remarking on the coincidence - you're not the only one interested in Artima Wei, it seems."

Duncan Theodore halted at this information. His piercing gaze hadn't left her but Almiria waited to be introduced - not simply out of decorum, but because she wanted to see more of this 'wisdom of your elders' Madame Ledendecker talked about before she, Almiria, determined how to handle herself.

"This is Miss Almiria Bauduin," Madame Ledendecker said, but before Almiria could regret using her real name the older woman leveled the playing field by adding, "But you knew that, didn't you, Mr Mass?"

Almiria blinked in surprise, rapidly reviewed her reading. "Ride Mass?" she said haltingly, quieter than she would have liked. _One of the old Tekkadan crew._ Maybe it shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did.

At last he looked away from her, continued his walk to the window. "Yeah," he said, and entered the silvery light cast there by the city outside. It was a guess, but Almiria thought his eyes were blue. He folded his arms, and his chin tucked down like a boxer.

After a pause, evidently not getting what she wanted, Madame Ledendecker sighed. "Of course it's not my job to prod you both into trusting the other, but intuition tells me you're after the same thing and so, my interests are now purely to save myself some time." She twisted her glass in its water ring on the table. "The last known location of Wei as of a week ago is Hong Kong. Avrias has arranged the alias 'Nightingale' with her, so you can use that to begin your search. Bear in mind," Madame Ledendecker rose, "that she may not choose to let you find her." She stepped away and her bodyguard tucked in her chair behind her. "Our own communication with her is frequently on her terms."

This surprised Almiria too - she'd been under the impression that Wei was in much closer collaboration with Avrias. Was there any particular significance to the United Municipality of Hong Kong? Her Earth Civics class had only touched on the most recent of its turbulant political and socio-economic history as the de-facto capital of the Eastern Pacific bloc and -

"Sounds like her," Mass said.

The tone in which he'd said it had an unprecentedly nostalgic tone to it, but Almiria did not let herself be distracted by it. She addressed the retreating Madame Ledendecker, desperate for concrete information, "What is the nature of Avrias' relationship with her?"

"I am not obligated to answer that, Miss Bauduin. Not until your own becomes clearer, at least. So. Thank you both for your visit." Madame Ledendecker's bodyguard opened the door to the suite and the two of them stood beside it implicitly, the gold carpet of light from outside barely touching the toes of their shoes.

Almiria bristled, and a glance told her Mass seemed to as well. Nonetheless, they both slowly left the room and were not followed. The elevator doors opened for them and, awkwardly, Almiria joined him. As the doors shut she settled naturally into her at-ease military poise, settling her gaze on their hazy reflections in the polished brass; the small space filled with tension before they'd descended two floors. This close she could smell oil on him, and reflexively ran her thumb over her cut-short nails. She remembered how long she'd had grease under them during the mechanics stints at the academy.

She felt she should say something, not so much to dissipate the tension here but to perhaps offset problems later. "I'm not here to get in your way. I'm not your enemy."

"All Gjallarhorn is my enemy," he said. He faced her. "Get this straight: the only reason you're gonna step out of this elevator at the bottom is because I don't feel like dealing with the mess of killing you right now."

Hardly a threat. What training did he have compared to her, after all? She looked at him. "Time's of the essence, right? Wei might have moved on before either of us get there." His eyes were indeed a hard blue, narrowed at her. Round face, diluted freckles just about visible across his nose that was a bit crooked, like it'd been broken once or even twice. A black cuff at the top of his right ear. Mouth not much more than a pale slit. Just your average delinquent on the surface.

"What?" he spat.

"If you'd stop being so angry for a minute, maybe you'd see that we can help each other." She said it for her own benefit, too. "Why do you think I'd risk myself looking for the enemy?"

"You have less to lose, you blue-blooded bitch."

Almiria couldn't remember the last time anyone had outright insulted her to her face, and before she could stop herself said, "I've already lost enough, thank you. I am risking everything else because I think she can help me even the score. That's what you want too, right?"

He looked at the rows of ivory floor buttons and didn't answer.

She narrowed her eyes and pressed on. "I think you're all bark. Do you have resources? A plan? No? I have those." At least, more than he did, she was sure. "So how about you put away that stupid bad boy act and consider what will get the job done faster and more efficiently."

"And why the fuck should I trust you?" he looked back at her with his chin raised, his eyes even narrower.

Almiria made her face as stony as she could. "You think you're the only one with a gun? You think_ I _would have let _you _walk out of this elevator if working together wasn't our best option?" It was her turn to look away. There was silence for a few moments - the ride down seemed to take forever. Her palms were uncharacteristically sweaty. "Guess I'll be the one to say it: you want her to help you take down Gjallarhorn. Rustal Elion, if I had to guess." She hesitated only briefly before adding, "That's what I want. Someone has to do it." It felt strange to say it aloud to someone else for the first time.

"Someone has to do it," he murmured. Was it in agreement? She couldn't be sure.

The elevator sank to a stop with a _ding_; the doors parted and Mass stepped out first. She was running out of time - there wasn't that many people in the Ledendecker lobby but there were still people - and so she took steps quick enough to briefly fall into step with him and as she did so, said lowly, "There should be a direct shuttle to UMHK; I'll be taking the next one. Think hard about what you want." She passed him and deliberately left the hotel by a different door without looking back or waiting for a response; the night air outside was cool and damp and she took a deep breath of it.


	4. Chapter 4: Impressions

**Chapter 4: Impressions**

_Trans-Pacific Shuttle 14, Vingolf to UMHK, Earth. 10th June, PD 332_

Deliberation needed to be quick. The conclusion had been natural because he wasn't stupid, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Ride made a mental note to reimburse Maeve for the last-minute ticket and instant transfer fee, and opened the dividing door between the shuttle cars. He walked slowly as he searched the forward-facing, blue-upholstered seats, rocking subtly with the glide of the monorail. Either side of him rain streaked the panoramic windows, which were already soaked in the black of night except for intermittent pulses of gray where utility lights illuminated the sea. The shuttle car, by contrast, was brightly-lit. The next available shuttle had been at 11:32PM, the last of the night, and as such was sparsely-populated. A giddy or nervous couple here and there, half-drunk or half-asleep businessmen mostly. In the back car of the four-car shuttle had been a larger group of rowdy students and it was with them he'd boarded, waiting until they were underway before looking for Almiria Bauduin.

He found her in the last car before the first-class car at the front. The car was empty but for the two of them; she was seated in a grouping of four with a table between them, facing in his direction. In the two hours since they'd left the hotel she'd dyed her hair dark brown, donned a pair of neutral-framed glasses, and changed from the dark red slacks and orange blouse to a much more casual pair of jeans and shirt, both black, under a cropped and hooded khaki jacket. A brown cross-body bag was in the seat next to her. All very nondescript. He had to give her credit for the moderate attempt at disguising herself. The average person probably would have been fooled.

He sat opposite her; she didn't greet him. He could see where the hair dye had leaked somewhat onto her skin and assumed she must have done it herself. In her hand was a worn paperback she'd been reading or pretending to read - _Memories of Mars_ was splashed in green-gilded, appalling cursive across an equally nonsensical stock photo of a stoppered vial of red dust sitting on a scattering of letters and photographs.

"Just because I'm here doesn't mean we're working together," he said.

"Once we talk to her we'll see what happens," she said, "I know. Just happen to be going in the same direction." She went back to the book as though it was more interesting than him.

Ride readjusted to sit in the seat by the window, sprawled across the one he'd vacated and propped his elbow on the windowsill, leaned his head into his hand. The rock of the monorail and the sound of rain on glass so near his ear was soothing; there was at least another hour to go until Hong Kong and he wanted to sleep but didn't dare. He eyed her. She had a heart-shaped face and high, somewhat arched brows - also dyed - that gave her a skeptical or surprised look, and her wavy hair had been shorn into a tilted-forward 'bob but otherwise seemed to have been left to its own devices, compared to the polished look she'd had earlier this evening. She'd taken off her makeup, too, revealing a blemished complexion and making her appear as harsh as her tone in the elevator. She sat straight-backed. He was under no illusion that he'd have the upper hand against her if he tried to take her offguard, though he didn't yet know where her training came from.

If she knew or cared that he was staring, she gave no indication. He stopped anyway, drawn to look again at the wreck of a book cover and insodoing, noticed that the only jewelry she wore was a thin silver - _No, probably white gold or titanium, let's be real._ \- band on the ring finger of her left hand. He was pretty sure that placement was where wedding rings used to go before they fell out of fashion, though he could remember Miss - _Mrs_ \- Merribit having one. He ran over what he knew about Almiria Bauduin. He hadn't paid much attention to her over the years - been too focused on revenge against Nobliss - but he did at least know the important bits: she'd been engaged, back then, to McGillis Fareed, who was ultimately killed by her brother, Gaelio Bauduin, otherwise known as Vidar, with whom Tekkadan had fought on a couple of occasions. Her sister-in-law was now Julieta Juris, the undisputed second-in-command to Rustal Elion and the one who'd killed Mikazuki. In a way, he thought, Almiria had been as close as he had to all of that mess seven years ago, even if neither of them showed up in the pictures. They were shadows.

He decided to start with the ugly question first. "You including your brother with all of Gjallarhorn?"

She turned a page and didn't respond, not that he expected her to.

"Getting revenge for McGillis?" he asked next.

"Maybe."

"Kinda a yes or no question. Black or white."

"Things aren't always black or white."

"Sometimes they are."

Her gray-blue eyes darted to him. "And you? Getting revenge for Tekkadan?"

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Well there you go." Almiria sighed, closed the book and tossed it on the table, folded her arms to mirror him. Her face took on an unexpectedly pondering look and after a moment she asked, "What's she like? Artima Wei."

The question took him off guard, though Ride supposed it shouldn't have. Of course she'd want information. He could respect that. How to answer, though? Was Artima even the same person he'd known, admittedly briefly, back then? Moreover, was there any risk in giving Almiria a heads-up?

"Everyone in Tekkadan respected her. Great pilot, too. Had some impressive stories. She went through a lot."

"You're stating the obvious."

"'Cus she's hard to describe otherwise. I didn't know her as well as a couple others, either." He thought of Mrs Merribit, Orga, Eugene, even Mikazuki. But then, what of her had _they_ really known? "You read up on her I guess," he said.

"What little there was," she agreed. "Of course files like that only state facts. I've had to get impressions from elsewhere and those weren't particularly helpful." She hesitated, then added, "My sister-in-law only calls Wei 'The Pilot' for some reason and there's a strange look in her eyes when she does, that I can't figure out. Still she's the one that's painted the most colorful picture, out of all of them, even if it's only in black and red."

"Don't think there's any better colors, really," Ride mused quietly to the window. Julieta was probably the most accurate, then. "That's probably it. Black. Red." In the shadows-on-shadows of the tumultuous sea beyond it played a scene from the theater of his memory:

Artima stumbling out of a broken Kheree into the hangar, hauling Eugene with her, blood soaking her - the way she'd spasmed violently and dropped him, jerked forward a few steps as though possessed before collapsing. The way the blood from her ears, eyes and nose flowed into her grimace and the way they'd all been too scared for a minute to touch her, touch all that black and all that red, worse than any other black or red they'd ever seen - worse than the void of space in which they were dying and worse than the red dirt of Mars that they would have died in too. The black and the red convulsing in front of them and _they _were the ones that suddenly wanted saving from it rather than the other way around.

"Being overdramatic isn't helpful," Almiria said, repositioning, and at first he thought she'd seen what he'd seen just now. The fact that there'd been a note of uncertainty in her voice stopped him from sniping back.

"You'll see."

* * *

It was nearing One A.M. by the time they disembarked into the main port of the United Municipality of Hong Kong, a purely utilitarian, white-tiled building that had sparse security at this hour and seemed like a lifeless husk. Almiria and Ride moved fluidly through the valves of unsupervised checkpoints and the ventricles of shuttered convenience stores and ticketing booths, their footsteps echoing behind them into the wan, mist-colored fluorescent light.

As they took the escalator to the surface the sounds of Hong Kong proper enveloped them in a raucous, neon-streaked, steam-filled embrace. They paused outside the shuttle terminal and scanned the mix of pre-war and modern architecture all stacked on top of one another, nearly obscuring the darkened hill beyond and its crown of lightning-laced thunder. In front of them raced pedicabs and hovercars, and a decent number of pedestrians milled around despite the late hour. The near-liquid air was a mix of diesel, fried onion, alcohol, and gardenia and it hit them like a wall.

"Better to go ahead and find a place to sleep for now, and start afresh in the morning," Almiria said, fanning herself. Her gaze was sweeping through everything.

Ride hesitated, watching her. Amusement bubbled in him. "You tryin' to find her straight away and save yourself the trouble?"

"It'd be convenient, wouldn't it," Almiria agreed then seemed to realize what she'd said. Her eyebrows drew down and she moved away, "Come on."

His stomach soured as he realized all his money had been spent on the fare - he hadn't thought this far ahead. Maybe it would've been better if Artima had miraculously turned up on the streets, or if they'd pressed on and searched well into the next day. That said, the tiredness was clawing at him. Potential cost-free options flit through his brain like moths around a lamp: a roof, a back doorway in an alley, an unlocked vehicle. "If it's all the same to you I'll find my own spot -"

"Don't be stupid," she said distractedly as they crossed the street. Her gaze was darting between two hotels a block or so away, and shortly she raised her arm, pushing back her cuffs to reveal a watch of some kind that she pressed a couple of buttons on, held out at the signs, retracted. A barely-heard blip and she peered at its illuminated surface. "Bingo." She strode confidently for the nearest one.

Ride shoved his hands in his pockets and followed, peering at its half-illuminated sign. 'Hartfords'. "Says no vacancy," he drawled to her back. Damn but she walked fast. He sure as hell wasn't gonna jog after her, though.

"There will be a twin room vacant shortly," she said.

He raised an eyebrow, but sure enough just as they entered the green aura of the lights ringing the street awning, a pair of women exited the sliding doors with luggage and, laughing, hailed a cab. Above the awning, Hartfords' sign proudly switched to 'Vacancy'.


End file.
